


Candy

by HerrKirschbaum



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, One Shot Collection, Random & Short, Short
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-13 18:22:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18474523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HerrKirschbaum/pseuds/HerrKirschbaum
Summary: Collection of Eruri erotica, too short to be published separately.Covers several AUs, timelines and universes.It doesn't always have to be high literature, right?1. 1999. During a hot summer night in New York City, cab driver Levi picks up a businessman on his way to the airport.





	Candy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1999\. During a hot summer night in New York City, cab driver Levi picks up a businessman on his way to the airport.

 

The Pocket Square

 

There was this one guy in that movie from the early 90s, what was his name again? He was not the brightest tool, but he was kinda decent.

I think he mentioned that life was like a box of chocolate, one would never know what he'd get. Personally, I don't like chocolate, but he wasn't that wrong, I think. It's a mixture of unforeseeable events, the whole thing, I mean, life, and in the end we all die, like that chocolate gets eaten, just like that. On the other hand, thinking of chocolate, people usually never eat the whole box, right? They don't like everything that's in there. But that's not how life works. We can't just skip the shit we dislike and move on. We have to eat the whole damn box of chocolate, whether we like it or not. So. Still comfy with the picture? I bet you get me now.

One might as well could say: Life's like the shift of a cab driver – he never knows who'll climb in his car, and if he doesn't take care of who's getting in there, he'll be, like, screwed, man, really, fucking screwed. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about, driving people around this godforsaken place is my daily bread and butter. It's not like being a cap driver was what I had in mind when I crawled out of my mother's womb, no, name me one guy who's been really wanting to become a cab driver since he's born, I tell ya, there ain't none, the pay sucks and tips are a rare exception. But old Kenny (my uncle) said: Son, you can't go on like this, you'll start working in my company, period. That was shortly after I was released from juvenile prison (aggravated assault, but believe me, that guy had it coming, seriously), and I, barely 18 years old, was like: Fine. I just wanted him to shut up, you know?

So, that's how it all started, back then, in 1989, about ten years ago, and ever since that day I've been driving my cab around this shit-hole of a city. But, well, I never complained, why would I? There are worse jobs to be done; being busy is important, maybe the most important thing, cause idle hands are devils playground.

Cab drivers always argue about what's the better shift: Day or night. I, personally, prefer night. Of course I'll then get to catch the odd fishes out there, the drunk and the revelers, but people are a lot more talkative at night, the streets almost empty and the lights kinda beautiful. Sometimes I don't even have to say a damn thing, I just sit in my big yellow cab, driving like all the other folks out there, while not thinking anything particular at all, and before I know what's happening that costumer's told me his whole fucking life-story. I should write a book someday, but most of the stuff I've been told you wouldn't believe anyway (trust me).

So, for the past fifteen minutes I've been sitting around the Plaza of the World Trade Center, not far from this bronze water fountain shaped like a huge ball, a sandwich in my right, a paper cup of coffee in my left hand. The cab's been parked in sight (Liberty and Church street). It's around 11 pm, but it's still warm, summer's coming (soon the usual heat will devour this stinking place, it's only a matter of time).

Occasionally I gaze up those two endlessly long towers, watch the illuminated windows and smile. Big cities are the most beautiful at night, cause they start to shine bright like diamonds. I ignore the people around me, most of them are businessmen on their way home, they're typical for this area, so why should I care, and they as well don't notice me, for I don't look rich enough to be any important. Still, tho, and that's probably the reason why I can't really enjoy tonight's sandwich properly, there's this guy who's been sneaking around my cab for a while now, as if he'd been looking for someone (i.e.: me). Before he had started stalking my car he tried to stop a couple of the other cabs passing-by, but, obviously, failed, since they were either busy or didn't seem to care. From time to time he gazed around helplessly. It was quite funny to watch, to be honest, him being all lost, looking at his wristwatch again and again. He's a business-guy, one of many, wearing the whole uniform: suit, necktie, case, you seen one of them you seen them all, there are just so many.

When I've finished my sandwich, I crumple the paper and throw it in some nearby waste bin, clap my hands and head towards my cab.

“Can I help you, sir?”, I ask passing him by, taking the key out of my jeans.

“I've been looking for a cab”, the man says. “For I need a ride.” He is about ten inches taller than me, slim, neatly groomed, just like all the other guys working here, his blonde hair parted at the side, his blue eyes friendly, but single-minded, as if even getting a cab would require the attempt to gain some personal profit, whatever that may be.

“Oh, really?”, I reply and unlock the doors. “In with you then.” I enter the car and he does the same.

There are basically two kinds of people. There are those who get onto the backseats (the majority). I prefer them, because it keeps up some sort of professional distance, you know? Worst case is you ignore each other for the ride, also you can easily watch them in the driving mirror (really important at night) and throw them out of the cab before they can make a fuss.

Then there are those who take the front seat. It rarely happens, but it does. Those are the self-assured, the talkative, the windbags. Usually, they come alone, one at a time, but they share one thing: They are lonely and compensate their weak ego with openly shown confidence. Might be that I'm wrong with some, but most of the time I'm right.

Of course he takes the front seat. I am not surprised.

Inside the car I fasten my seatbelt and grab a cigarette box I've been keeping in the little pigeonhole of the driver's door. I place one of the cigarettes between my lips and light it. Wether it bothers him or not is something I don't ask for; he can go anytime if he dislikes it, it's not as if I was desperately in need of his money. But he keeps his mouth shut, and so I wind down my window. I don't want to be that much of an asshole.

“Where you wanna go?”, I ask him, placing my elbow on the window frame.

“JFK”, he replies in a friendly manner. Then: “Would you mind if I'd wind down the other window as well?”

“Whatever floats your boat”, I reply and he looks relieved. “JFK, you said?”

“Yes, please.”

So he wants to the airport. He's speaking with accent, but I can't really make out where he's from. I put away the lighter and turn on the engine. Seconds later we become a part of the floating traffic flow of this never sleeping city. It will take about half an hour; it's a nice ride, actually, leading us past the bay. Apparently, my passenger's got an eye for such stuff. Lost in thoughts he gazes out of the window for a bunch of minutes, before he turns at me.

“Excuse me”, he says, “but may I ask for you name?”

I furrow my brows. “Why you wanna know?”

“I prefer to know the name of those I spend my time with”, he replies, in the same friendly tone he's been using the entire time. He's got a nice voice, deep, melodic, warm. “Even though it might only be the thirty minutes it takes to get to the airport.”

“Alright”, I mutter over my cigarette, eyeing him from the corner of my eyes, a gaze he calmly replies. He looks honestly interested and so I shrug. Why not? We'll hardly ever meet again. “Call me Levi”, I say. “How about ya?

“Erwin”, he replies. “My name is Erwin Smith.”

“You ain't from New York, huh?” I breathe out and the cabin fills with smoke. Suddenly, Erwin starts to laugh, as if I'd just given him a mad-funny joke.

“No, I am not”, he says, “I'm from England.”

“So, England it is.” I nod. “Guess that's were you're going tonight? Heading back home?”

Now it's him nodding. “I'm on my way to London, but only for a few days. I've been living in Manhattan for the past couple of years.”

“I see”, I say and the conversation dies. For a brief moment I let my gaze wander over him, over his harmonious features, the perfect, wrinkle-free suit, probably tailored, who knows, I certainly don't, his perfect hands. He's not wearing a ring, even tho he's probably cracked the thirties a bunch of years ago.

“You got family?”, I want to know.

“No, I don't.”

“A fiancé? A girlfriend?”

“No.” A short smile lights up his face. “I really don't cared much about women and dating, to be perfectly honest.”

“You're more the career kind of guy”, I say.

“Yes.”

“And do you like it?”

“What?”

“Your career.”

Every human has his weak point, and usually it can be found easily, tonight as well. Once more he laughs, but this time it sounds protective. I bet hundred bugs that he doesn't even notice. “Mostly, yes”, he says.

“Mostly?”

“Well, do you love your job unconditionally?”, he asks, and now it's me who's laughing.

“Hell, no.” I take the cigarette out of my mouth and throw it out of the window. “But it's a job and a job pays the bills. This here has regular working ours, too, that ain't bad. Hate responsibility, you know? Most of the time I'm just being left alone, and I like that.”

The radio unit starts cracking. It's Rosa speaking, Kenny's pretty, awfully young right hand. She's wanting to know if there are free cabs available for Broadway and Murray.

“It's about time”, I say and Erwin, staring into space, sunken in his thoughts, raises his head.

“Excuse me?”, he asks. Only now I notice that his movements still look fidgety. His fingertips are drumming on his thighs.

“Broadway.” I nod at the radio. “The plays usually end about this time, hell's about to break loose, just you wait.”

“Ah.” He nods, but won't add anything. I remain right. Barely five minutes later the radio keeps cracking and buzzing nonstop, one request after the other comes in.

“K850, K850, please”, Rosa's voice eventually grates out of the speakers.

“That's us”, I say and take up the microphone, pressing the small black button on its edge. “Oy, Rosa, what's up?”

“Three guests at Church Street.”

“Sorry”, I reply, “I'm taken for JFK.”

“For how long?”

“I'll let ya know.”

In a routined manner I place the microphone back at its usual place. Next to me Erwin once more looks at his wristwatch.

“You're in a hurry?”, I ask.

“Hm?”

“You've been fidgeting all the way, man. Either I make you nervous, or you're late for something, most likely your flight.”

“Ah.” For a moment he looks caught, only shortly, tho, but not short enough as if I wouldn't notice. I'm quite an observer, and that's something one needs to be in this job. Avoid problems before they fuck you up, that's my motto. If someone's being a dick or a creep, he's kicked out of this cab before he can say _Empire State Building_. It's that simple. No need to get robbed inside your own fucking car by some fucking junkies.

“In fact I am a little late”, he eventually replies, “the meeting took longer than planned.”

“When will your flight take off?”

“Around one.”

“You gotta pass through passport control, right?”

“Yes.”

“Oh”, I happen to say, “I don't wanna disappoint ya and everything, but that could be kind of a problem.” With those words I press the gas pedal right down to the floor. Like this we fly around the next corner. The cigarette boy in the pigeonhole, his trunk next to his feet, both slide a couple of inches to the right. Erwin holds himself tightly onto one of the plastic grips at the ceiling.

“Please, don't go to any trouble”, he then says and I feel as if I'd see nervousness sparkling in his eyes, “I don't want to endanger your driver's license.”

I snort. Driver's license, I think, don't make me laugh.

“You white collar guys sure work too much”, I say after we've been silent for a while. “Meetings at ten pm, what the fuck.”

“Well, aren't you working right now, too?”

“Yeah, but I'll be done tomorrow at six, having the rest of the day off.”

“I see.” A mild smile shows on his face.

“Nothing you can claim for yourself, huh?”

“Not really.”

“You know, I never really got how someone can work his ass off for someone else's money.” I click my tongue. “Not that I'm trying to talk you out of your job, man, do whatever you want, it's your life.”

“That's really generous of you”, he replies and before I know it we both start laughing. Even tho from England, he's way more sociable than most of his colleagues I had the displeasure of driving. It's a nice change. “To be honest with you”, Erwin goes on, “it's not like I haven't thought about it.”

“About what?”

“A career change.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes.”

I start grinning. “Any ideas?”, I ask, but he only shrugs.

“Who knows. Maybe I'll just get myself a house in the Hamptons and start gardening. A little more quiet wouldn't be that bad. Or maybe I'll try something new and get a cab driver's license?”

“Would make ya a true New Yorker, that's for sure”, I say.

“How's a cab driver's life like?” His brows raised in amusement he looks over at me, half jokingly, half curious. His eyes rest on me slightly longer than usual, giving me the strange aftertaste of being watched.

“Maybe you should ask someone who doesn't work in that field.” Once more I take out the cigarette box and light one. Next to me I hear the sound of laughter.

“You're probably right.”

Of course, I am, I think with a grin and rush around the next curve. That way we run rush the night.

 

“You should grab your stuff and run. Maybe you'll make it in time after all.”

“Thank you very much.” He gives me the money for the ride, a nice tip included, then takes his trunk and leaves. Of course he's in a hurry. Even tho I drove faster than allowed, we took longer than I had expected. Whether he'll be able to catch this flight is something I seriously doubt, but I don't tell him (why should I take away his hope?). His hand raised for a last goodbye, he turns around and disappears through the entrance door. Silently I look after him, watch his fast, but smooth movements, the blonde hair in the artificial light. Not an unsympathetic guy, I think, then face the radio, turning on the mic.

“Hey, Rosa?”, I ask into the endless void of radio waves out there. It takes a while before she responds.

“Levi.” Kenny must have left her alone, cause her voice sounds sweet as sugar. “Honey, what's up?” She's from the south.

“I'll be on my break now.”

“Already, sweetie, no problem. Just check in once you're back, alright?”

“Always.”

With these words I turn off the radio and unfasten my seatbelt. The coffee I've had earlier has already passed my body, and I gotta pee. I leave the cab, lock it as usual and disappear behind some corner. When I return to my car only minutes later, someone is leaning against one of the doors, the arms folded in front of his chest, gazing up the sky, watching the starting planes. It's him.

For a moment I look at him the same way he looks at the airplanes, his slender limbs, his well-proportioned figure. He's handsome, I think, no, he's hot, and I bet he knows. That he doesn't have a girlfriend somehow surprises me, and yet it doesn't. There's something about him, his manner, that doesn't seem to work with women. He said he wasn't interested in them, I remember, and suddenly I realize that we both probably play for the same team.

Cleaning my hands with disinfectant, I step closer, lean myself against the car, right next to him, my arms just folded like his. A cigarette is still resting between my lips. I gaze at him from the side, a little longer than I normally would; for tonight he'll be owning my interest.

“Didn't go well, huh?”, I say and he nods.

“Check-in was already closed when I got there. I guess this flight will depart without me.”

“Shame about that money.”

“Not really.” He winks at me. “The company pays.”

“Well, good for you”, I reply and we start to smile. “What you gonna do now?”

“They made a reservation for me at the Hilton nearby and booked me for the next flight.”

“When's that?”

“Around six.”

“Right.” I place the cigarette between my lips and take a deep breath. By now I start to notice how close we're standing next to each other, our shoulder's almost touching. “Say, Smith-”

“Yes?”

I hesitate. “Can I ask you something?”

“Certainly.”

“You probably wanna take a different cab back downtown after that.”

“Oh, really?” Honestly surprised he raises his brows. Turning his upper body slightly toward me, he's searching for my gaze. “What is it?”

For a moment our eyes meet, but soon I'll turn away. “You fuck?”, I ask with a matter-of-fact kind of voice.

“Pardon?” He sounds surprised (and has every right to).

“If you fuck, I ask.”

“Of course”, he replies reluctantly. “Just as any other human being on this planet.”

“You fuck guys?”

For a minute or so he keeps his mouth shut. Silently he eyes the ground to his feet. It's roaring in him, I can see it, but what's going on inside of his head, who knows for sure? Eventually he looks me straight in the face, takes the cigarette out of my hand, sticking it between his lips. “Yes”, he then says, smoking.

The hint of a smile shows on my lips. “I'd thought so.” He hands me back the cigarette and our fingers touch. “Ever been fucked?”

He snorts. It sounds amused. “No.”

“Care to change that?”

“Why would I?”

I reach into the chest pocket of my denim jacket and take out a condom. I always carry it with me, for you never know.

“Because, and excuse my french, I sure as hell'd like to fuck your brains out before you take that flight to London tomorrow morning.” I clear my throat. “If you don't mind.”

Without looking at me he starts to grin. “Do you always hit on your costumers?”

“Well, sometimes.”

“And does it work?”

“Usually, yes. I got a good sense on people.”

“Ah.” He nods, heavy with meaning, once more asks for the cigarette and smokes. “If I was your boss I would have fired you ages ago.”

“But you're not, and the cab company is my uncle's”, I reply. “He kicks my ass from time to time, but that's it, basically.”

“I see.”

“So? What do ya think?”

Calm on the outside, he finishes up the cigarette, throws it on the ground and extinguishes it with the tip of his leather shoes. “Where?”

“Here.” With a nod I point toward a hidden corner of a building not far from us. It's a calm spot; I've never been disturbed there. “I'll drive you to your hotel afterwards.”

 

I lead the way and he follows, holding his suit case, carefully looking around. He's a tall guy, he can take care of himself, no doubt about that. It doesn't take long until we arrive at the place, a narrow niche between two buildings, not the Ritz, but quite hidden, just what we need for our little adventure. Apart from that it's dark, here, in the middle of the night, nobody but us will be there. 

He takes a look around, he doesn't trust me, of course not, why would he, it's still New York City. Everything seems to be alright, tho, since he places the suit case next to his feet and turns at me. He fixes his eyes on mine and a smile shows on his lips, inviting, no, challenging, and I come at him with rapid movements. We have a good contrast, he, in his nice shiny suit, me, with my denim jacket, sneaker and a plain white T-Shirt. 

I'll stop in front of him, take off my jacket, placing it on top of his suit case, careful not to let it touch the ground. His gaze wanders down my shirt, my arms and chest, and he likes what I offer him, I can see it in his eyes. 

“Take off your necktie”, I say and all of a sudden my voice sounds severe and sharp. He obeys, even opens the first button of his white collar shirt, while letting his eyes rest upon me, a patient smile on his lips (that alone is enough to make me hard, he just looks too fucking hot, God help me). In the end I reach out for him, shoving my fingers between his body and waistband, pulling him closer. He willingly lets it happen.

“What's your job?”, I ask and his smile slowly changes into a confident grin.

“I'm a project manager.”

“A position of power, huh?”

“So to say.”

But this power will be mine tonight, at this airport, in this narrow gap between those buildings, and so I reach for his collar and pull him down to me. Our lips meet, then open, we don't hesitate. I feel his tongue on my lips, on mine, and it feels good; his taste makes me greedy for more. In a determined manner I push him against the wall, open his shirt (he's not wearing an undershirt, it's already too warm), let my hand slide underneath the fabric, over neck, larynx, chest, his nipples, while my lips search their way over the firm line of his chin. He has a beautiful body of even proportions, trained and firm. It's a pleasure to touch him. Impatiently I drink up the smell of his aftershave, aromatic, bitter, smelling like musk, when he follows my movements and kisses me again. He appears just as excited as I, cause his breath is trembling, while I can clearly hear the sound of his heart, it's beating that heavily. 

“Ever done something like this before?”, I whisper between two kisses and press my hips against his, make him wheeze, he's hard, just as I am, good lord, how can someone be that hard?

“Maybe.” His lips shimmer in the twilight of the night, but I don't miss their reddish shine. He reaches out for me, but I'm faster, grabbing his hand at the wrist, pressing it against the wall. The fingers of my other hand grab his hair, and even tho he acts as if he's fighting against me, we both now that he likes it, it can easily be read in his eyes, greedily sparkling in the shadows of the night, as if he was the tiger and I his prey. An amused sound leaves my throat.

“I'll take that as a _yes_ ”, I breath against his lips, lick them, then seal them once more, less passionately than before, my concentration is needed somewhere else. In a routined manner I let the fingers of my right hand slide over the firmly tightened fabric between his legs. His body starts to tremble due to my movements, reaches out for me, begs for more, but I don't give it to him that easily, from time to time I hesitate. Only then, slowly, I reach his belt, get rid of this bothersome obstacle, zipper, buttons. 

Only now I allow him to touch me; his fingers carefully slide over my forearm, then my chest, down to the seam of my shirt, where they dare o slide underneath, but he won't come that far, since I go down on my knees. We both just know too well what's about to come, and the simple expectation is already enough to make him act all nervously.

He pushes down his pants and takes  _him_ out, upright and stiff, already glossy of lust, towering up into the night. My hands hold his hips, then, after I breathed a kiss against both his loins, my mouth takes him in. My lips seal around the hot and pulsating flesh, my tongue blindly finds its way. I know what I'm doing here, it's not the first time, and he feels it, it can't be overseen, a trembling captures all his limbs, leading to a suppressed moan, only hidden by the fact that he bites his bottom lip in the last possible moment. His eyes closed, he sinks against the wall, his fingers slide through my hair, hold my head, push it down, careful but not without determination (I let him be, we both get what we want here). I let my right hand slip into my pants, touch myself, in slow, rhythmic movements, gradually becoming faster.

So this is how it goes, and while I'm in charge of everything, Erwin is completely and utterly at my mercy. From time to time his hips move forward, a moan leaves his throat, while he's carefully gazing around to make sure nobody's watching us. I could say that the risk of getting caught does nothing to me, but that would be a lie. No, it inspires me. 

Still biting his lip, his hands buried in my hair, he starts bending forward, and I let him go, so he won't come before it's time. Searching for his gaze, I wipe away what's left from the corners of my mouth, stand up and reach for him. He tries to kiss me, but I dodge him, so that his lips only meet my cheek.

I tell him that I'm about to give him what he wants, that he should turn around and relax, more than that, that it would be the most important thing to relax, but that he would probably know himself,  _with all his experience_ . He doesn't reply, but follows my orders and before I know what's happening, he stands in front of me like I'm an officer, he my suspect, his hands firmly touching the walls.

Carefully I pull down his pants a little more, let my hand slide underneath his shirt, touching the soft, but firm skin, moist my fingers first, then him, reach for my jacket and take out the condom, open it, pull it over, gently but fast. I can hear his breath trembling of nervousness (or is it joy of anticipation?), push up his shirt and pull him close to me. Then I push myself against him, waiting silently for his flesh to lose and let me in. In the beginning his body reacts reluctantly, it's alright, such things happen. But after I adjusted his position I slide inside of him within two forceful thrusts, hold him tight, my forehead pressed against his shoulder, the breath hot and gasping. I give him time, so that his body will get used to me, and it does. 

After that he's mine, and I take him, as good as I can. Nobody speaks. All that can be heard are the trembling breaths of two men at the edge of their senses, the rustle of clothing being pushed away, the occasional moan of an careless throat. Erwin lets me be, he relaxes more and more, his body clinging at mine, in intensifying joy, growing harmony, in the end he even reaches out for me, presses me against him. It's a silent signal, he's reached his max. And so I loosen my right hand from his hip, let it slide between his legs, close my fingers around his erection, very carefully, but it's enough to let him melt.

A sudden tension fulfills his body, a last, breathless gasp, then I can feel him wetting my fingers, hot and moist. One last time I thrust into him, harder than before, then I let go and go with the upcoming ecstasy, it takes me hostage and carries me away, it happens so fast and intensive that the whole world starts to feel blurry. Once it's all over I sink against him, breathing heavily. We remain like this for a while, until we both have gathered enough strength to stand straight again. Once more he bends over to me, once more we kiss, long, fervently, take in the smell of the other, as if we'd both wanted to make sure that we'd not forget.

“How many of your costumers did you do here already?”, Erwin eventually asks, while he takes care of his necktie and shirt, closing his pants. 

“Three or four, maybe”, I reply casually. But tonight was the best. Probably he just wants to hear that, and for that exact reason I don't tell him. With skilled fingers I pull the condom from my penis, close it with a knot and throw it into some dark corner. “Go a tissue?”, I ask him then. Mine are still at my car.

Erwin shakes his head.

“What about this?” I point at the neatly folded handkerchief in his chest pocket.

“My pocket square?” He looks surprised.

“What else?”

For a moment he hesitates. Then, after a brief pause, he takes it out, unwillingly tho, and hands it to me. I understand his displeasure. It seems to be made from silk, or some other mad-expensive shit. Whatever. It's too good for my purpose, but the hell I will just pull up my pants being all glibbery like that.

I clean myself then hand the handkerchief back to him, with a questioning face. What now?

“Give it to me.” He takes it and folds it, so that the wet part is on the inside. “I'll clean it once I'm at the hotel.”

Ah, yeah. Speaking of which-

Wordlessly I take the jacket from his suit case and slide inside. “I'll drive ya”, I say then and turn to go, “it's on the house. Come.”

 

“K850, please copy”, it sounds again and again, once I turn on the radio. I know why (my break has definitely ended a while ago). When I can't stand the noise no more, I take up the mic and turn it on.

“What?” I sound irritated.

“JFK international. Two passengers, one dog. Damn it, Levi, where the heck have you-”

“Taking care of it.” I slam the microphone back on its holder system. When I look over to Erwin, the hint of a smile makes the corners of his mouth twitch.

We barely speak on our way to the hotel (the Hilton is basically located on airport ground), but it's not an awkward silence, rather the opposite. From time to time I look at him from the corner of my eyes, while something inside of me tells me that he's doing the same, even tho I never catch him during the act. The radio's the only source of noise between us, Rosa's cracking voice our company.

“Here it is”, I say, after parking at the entrance area. “Will they charge the full fee even tho you'll basically stay only for four hours?” To me, this sounds entirely ridiculous.

“Yes, they will.”

“What a waste.”

But Erwin only laughs. “As I said”, he replies and raises his hands, “it's corporate money.”

“Good for you.”

“Definitely.”

By now it would be time for him to leave, but he remains seated and doesn't move. He's got something on his mind, I can see it, but he's still lacking the right words.

“What are you up to do now?”, it suddenly bursts out of him.

“JFK international. Two passengers, one dog”, I quote Rosa and point at the radio.

“I see.” He sounds disappointed.

“Why?” With slightly furrowed brows I search his gaze and understand, once our eyes meet.

Of course, I think. O f c o u r s e.

“Ah”, I mutter, sounding half-impressed, half gauging. “You think you can keep up with me?” I show a promising smile that is replied by him.

“I don't know.” He raises his eyebrows in a patronizing manner. “Have _you_ ever been fucked, Levi?”

“No. Never.”

He nods, fraught with meaning, then, suddenly, starts to grin. “Care to change that?”

I look at him and can't help but to secretly praise his boldness. Before I know what I'm doing, I have turned off the radio station and pulled the key out of the car.

“What about your costumers?”, he asks.

I shrug. “They better won't wait for me tonight.”

 

When I wake the next day, Erwin is already gone, only the smell of his aftershave is still with me, has burned its odor as deeply into the sheets as I my fingernails into his flesh past night, aromatic, bitter, smelling like musk. Kenny will be pissed about my solo-run, I'm fully aware of that, but whatever, I think, if a kick in the ass is the price I have to pay for this adventure, I'll pay it with a smile. Once more I turn around and doze off, imagine that Erwin would still be here, remember the pictures of this incredible, breathtaking night. Later, after I took a shower, I find his business card waiting for me at the top of my neatly folded clothing: subtle off-white coloring, tasteful thickness – it even has a watermark.

 

One week later we meet again.

 

 


End file.
